


Moments in Time

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M, Slice of Life, post-retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 16:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10857663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which Napoleon and the cat reminisce with the photo album while Illya takes his morning swim.  Post-retirement.





	Moments in Time

Napoleon was getting used to finding things to do while Illya went out for a morning swim. This morning’s diversion was going through his photo album; Baba Yaga, disliking the water as much as he did, seemed very interested in the photographs that Napoleon was going through.

“Each one of these has so many memories,” he murmured to the cat. “Look, that’s the day Illya found you…” The picture was indeed Illya, cooing over the Egyptian Mau kitten that was now grown-up and still with them, even after their retirement from U.N.C.L.E.; she was still going strong—with no signs of slowing down.

“Oh, and there’s this one…” Napoleon said, fondly, as he pointed to it. It was a picture he had taken in front of a mirror, with Illya, holding Baba Yaga as he stood with barely-hidden exasperated look as he watched Napoleon take the picture of them. “A family photo!”

Most of the photographs were ones that Napoleon had taken—Illya was in the majority of them, though there were a few of Napoleon, and some were of them together, taken by other people.

The turned the page of the album and paused at a photo he hadn’t taken—it was Baba Yaga with a mouse in her mouth; a caption beneath it, written in Illya’s handwriting, read “First Successful Hunt!”

“He went on about that all day,” Napoleon recalled. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“Murowr…”

“Yeah, I _know_ you gave it to me—that’s how our landlady found out about you… Not that I didn’t appreciate the thought behind it, but, ah, I wasn’t a big fan of dead mice on my pillow… I guess the scream made that clear.”

Baba Yaga gently nudged his cheek with her nose; he smiled and gently pet her on the head, causing her to purr like a motorboat.

“Alright, my dear, now I’m going to show you something that must remain absolutely secret from Illya; he’s been after these pictures since he’s learned of their existence for the sole purpose of destroying them…”

He gently withdrew some Polaroids from under the jacket he had placed on the album cover. “Look at these—these were from an affair when Illya had to go undercover during Eurovision in 1968.”

Illya had been bedecked in shades of blue—cerulean, metallic blue, sky blue, aqua—and dressed to look like a stylized peacock. It had been Janet Jerrod’s idea, who had been on the mission with them in a consultant capacity, given her background in show business. Both Napoleon and Janet had thought that Illya had looked absolutely beautiful. Illya, on the other hand, had not, and had gone on a quest to destroy every bit of photographic evidence of his costume. These Polaroids were the sole survivors.

“What do you think?” Napoleon asked the cat.

Baba Yaga’s response was to purr even more loudly, prompting Napoleon to grin.

“I am so glad you’re on my side for this one,” he said, slipping the Polaroids back in their hiding place. “I’m really impressed with myself on this, actually—he’s been through this photo album so many times, and yet he’s never found them…”

Napoleon turned the page back from where he had left off, and chuckled as he saw another one of the pictures.

“Well, what do you know?” he mused. “Take a look at this. Here’s one that you took—sort of…”

It was a blurry picture of him and Illya together, kissing; Napoleon had left his camera on the coffee table, and as Baba Yaga had jumped up on the table to investigate, her paw had ended up landing on the camera such that a picture had been taken.

“Not bad, considering you took it without thumbs…”

The Mau meowed again—first at him, and then at Illya, who had finished his swim and was returning to them, wrapped in a towel.

“Going through those photos again?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Napoleon grinned. “When we were young and spry…”

“Please don’t have another mid-life crisis now,” Illya teased.

“Nah. Looking at these photos, I’m content with the knowledge that the three of us have had it pretty good.”

“Ah, _Dorogoy_ , I do not need photos to tell me that,” Illya said, looking at him, fondly. “I realize it every time I see the two of you with me.” He turned the page and paused as he saw a photo of the two of them at an U.N.C.L.E. office party; George must have taken the picture, as both Napoleon and Illya were in this one. Illya, holding Baba Yaga, was smiling in the picture—a rare capture indeed—and the source of his mirth was Napoleon, who had been captured in a moment of laughter, holding onto Illya’s shoulder for support. A second photo, taken moments later, was of the two of them looking at each other lovingly, and Baba Yaga glancing up at them, the three of them oblivious to the rest of the world.

Napoleon could see Illya’s heart melt at the sight of that photograph.

“Still, it’s nice to see them, isn’t it?” he asked, and Illya nodded fervently. “You know, I wonder what happened to the handsome, young couple in this photo…”

“Don’t you know?” Illya asked, kissing him. “They, and the cat, lived happily ever after.”

Napoleon smiled and kissed him back as Baba Yaga punctuated the conversation with more purrs.

“They certainly are.”


End file.
